


Clean and jerk

by rudbeckia



Series: Flatmates who... [10]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Lack of Communication, M/M, benarmie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 05:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14157414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: From a prompt:orangebutterfly13 said20. “I know I screwed up, but hey, what if I order us a pizza?” & benarmie? ♡ if you want to :)Some soft Benarmie? Yes, I want to! Thanks!Ben has a weightlifting competition. Armitage isn’t there to see him win. Perhaps he just doesn’t care any more.





	Clean and jerk

Ben scanned the gym but there was no sign of Armitage. One flash of orange hair belonged to someone else and Ben hated them for the little surge of elation it gave him. Phasma punched his arm. “Babe, you’re up. It’s yours to win.”  
Ben heard his name called and an official checked his stance for his final clean-and-jerk. A last glance around the onlookers—before focusing his full attention on his stance and the barbell by his feet—confirmed that Armitage was not going to witness this triumph.

The individual trophy was small and plastic, a fact that the weightlifting team laughed at every year. Ben hoisted it aloft with pinched fingertips in the student bar after shaking the hand of the opposing team member in his weight group, and everyone cheered. Phasma flapped a hand at Ben to get him to scoot over and make room for her on the bench seat, then set a tray of drinks on the table next to the team trophy: a large shield that had to be returned to the university sports centre display cabinet at the end of the evening. Ben laughed at the colourful and delicate glasses.  
“Spoils the image, doesn’t it? Shouldn’t the weightlifting champion team be drinking pints of something dark?”  
Phasma grinned and took a glass. “We won. I’m team captain. And it’s happy hour for cocktails.” She reached for a second glass. “But if you don’t want your pomegranate margarita—“  
Ben blocked her arm and took his drink. “Did you see Armitage anywhere? I asked him to come but I guess I missed him.”  
“No,” replied Phasma, “but I wasn’t looking out for him so...” She shrugged. Someone else waved their trophy and everyone cheered.

Next morning, Armitage woke alone, unsurprised that Ben’s side of the bed was empty. Weightlifting team nights out usually ended with a drunken text or phone call from Ben telling “Armiedarlin” how cute he was but that he was crashing at Phasma’s and would be back when the hangover abated. Armitage had accompanied Ben on only one club social, and he’d sat at the end of the table, bored, until his phone told him he’d stayed for an hour and could probably make an excuse without looking too rude.

Meanwhile, Ben sipped coffee and Phasma drank water.  
“I can’t believe he didn’t come,” said Ben. “Didn’t even call or text to say well done!”  
“What a snatch,” said Unamo, rolling her eyes at Phasma, picking up a holdall. “A total clean and jerk. I’m off down the launderette before the team kit grows legs. Be seeing yous later.”  
Phasma accepted a kiss on the cheek and patted Unamo’s back. “Ben, babe,” she said, “did he know it was a competition? I mean, if he just thought it was a piss-up then I can understand why he might not show up.”  
“Yes! I put it on his wall planner.” Ben sighed. “He’s not that interested but I thought he’d make the effort.”  
“Well,” said Phasma. “Know what my advice is?”  
_“Leave the bastard?_ That’s your usual line.”  
“No.” Phasma smiled and play-slapped Ben’s cheek. “Go home and talk to him about it.”

Armitage wasn’t home. Ben read the note _Tutoring Tak_ written in dry-wipe marker on the fridge door then scrubbed it off with his sleeve. Armitage had been at his ex-flatmate’s place a lot recently, helping him get his head round fluid dynamics or something for his finals. Doubts crept through Ben’s head: _you’ve nothing in common really; he likes Tak better than you; Tak will leave Than and then he’s going to leave you; you’ll have to move out; you had rules for a reason._ He looked at the wall planner, peering at his tiny block writing: _Ben UWC comp 7pm._ Ben showered in misery, put on sweats and called Phasma.

Mitaka lifted his phone the third time _”R.E.S.P.E.C.T.”_ blared out.  
“Sorry,” he said to Armitage’s scowl. “Phasma’s not giving up so it’s important.” He called back. “Phas? Hi! Wass— oh... oh?” He looked at Armitage. “Yes he’s he—“ Mitaka frowned. “Um, okay. Do you want to ta— okay. He what? No way!” Mitaka sighed and was silent for about a minute. “Yeah, I’ll tell him. Bye then, see you later?... Ha!”  
He put the phone down and took a deep breath.  
“Armitage? Phasma would like you to know that you’re an arsehole and she’s not speaking to you because you made Ben upset because you didn’t go to his weightlifting competition last night even though he wrote it on your calendar.”  
Armitage stared at Mitaka. “I... what?”  
“Honestly,” Mitaka shook his head and started closing his books. “This Navier-Stokes stuff will still be here tomorrow. Your boyfriend might not be so patient.”  
“I didn’t know about it!” wailed Armitage. “I would have gone if he’d _told_ me! That’s not—”  
“Fair?” Mitaka shrugged. “Up to you whether you have a fight about it or not.”

Light was fading from the sky by the time Armitage got home. He opened the door quietly and put his things in the kitchen. He stared at the wall calendar, frowning at the message he’d disregarded as a reminder for Ben. It really wasn’t fair at all that Ben expected him to— He sucked his lip and rubbed his finger across the neat handwriting. The flat was quiet. Armitage looked first in the silent living room. Ben was not there. He closed the curtains and put the table lamp on: a light-up, colour changing stormtrooper helmet that had been a Christmas gift from Phasma. He crept across the hall into the bedroom. Ben lay face down on the bed, under the covers, feet poking out.

Armitage had made his decision as his anger diffused away during the brisk walk home.  
“Hey, babe?” He sat next to Ben and put his hand on Ben’s back, rubbing small circles between his shoulders through the padding of the quilt. “I know I screwed up. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how important last night was and I should’ve been there for you.”  
The lump moved and mumbled.  
“You coming out? I got some things. To say sorry.”  
The lump stretched and a hand appeared, flapping around until it grasped Armitage’s knee and squeezed.  
“Come through when you’re ready. I ordered pizza and it’ll be here soon. I got a bottle of that Italian red you liked and we can watch... a video I found.”  
Armitage patted Ben’s shoulders again then got up and went to the living room. He loaded youtube on the TV, found the video he’d searched for on his way home and cued it ready to play.

The doorbell rang and Armitage paid for the pizza. He set it on the sturdy, upended, cardboard crate that served as their coffee-table and went to the kitchen to pour two glasses of wine. His head turned and he smiled as a warm, familiar laugh came from the living room.  
“I didn’t know it had been videoed,” said Ben, accepting a glass and sitting on one of their small sofas. Armitage squeezed in next to him and flipped open the pizza box.  
“I guessed it probably would be. It’s unofficial and the sound’s shite so you’ll have to give me a running commentary.”  
He pressed play, and Ben pointed himself out in the background as the first competitor walked out centre screen for the snatch competition.

Armitage replayed Ben’s final lift three times just for the groan and curse of the person who’d filmed it, clearly one of the opposing team’s supporters. Ben laughed and retrieved his tiny trophy when Armitage demanded to see it. Armitage set it on the dining table next to the lamp and said, “we should get the world’s smallest display cabinet for this,” while Ben laughed and held him from behind.  
“I got really upset.”  
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t realise the message on the calendar was a reminder for me. I saw _Ben_ and just thought you’d started organising yourself. Next time, tell me?”  
“You’ll come?”  
“Watch my sweaty boyfriend grunt and lift while his muscles stand out under that tiny, tiny vest and shorts you call club kit?” Armitage leaned back and sniggered. “Mmm. I’ll come all right.”


End file.
